Why the Cardinals Lost the Super Bowl

Jasmine is beautiful. She's just the wrong color. I know that smacks of prejudice, but I love her, and I never would have done what I did if not for her color.  It's weird that for seven years she's slept with me, cuddled up with me, and watched t.v. with me. She's been my most loyal companion, but she betrayed me when the Cardinals defeated the Eagles in the NFC championship.

Nestling up with me, she watched the whole game. It was the thrill of a lifetime to see Kurt Warner, a story too good to be true, take the Cardinals to the Super Bowl. It  was unbelievable. So unbelievable that I took note of the clothes I was wearing, the chair I was sitting in, the food I was eating  and the beer I was drinking.  I wanted to make sure there was nothing to jinx the Super Bowl. I would wear the same Cardinal jersey and the same Levis, sit in the same brown recliner, eat the same chicken wings, and drink the same beer.

Then I looked at Jasmine and a sudden, disturbing, discovery hit me like Dick Butkas. She was a Steeler's fan.

"Say it ain't so, Jas. Say it ain't so!"

I looked into her eyes and found no confirmation, yet, no denial of my suspicion. So, I wrestled with Jasmine, the bad omen she was, for the whole two stupid weeks leading up to the big game.  My heart of hearts knew she was a sign. She didn't care that she was black, white and gold. That's how Calicos are. She didn't choose to be a Steeler mascot, she was born that way. I should have thrown her out the door right then and there if I wanted the Cardinals to win, but I convinced myself she was this double agent who sported Steeler gold but bled Cardinal red... like the Cardinal I found dead on the porch about a year ago... Jasmine's handi-work. 

Try to shake it, but the bad feeling won't leave you. Even if you sink into deep denial against your own superstitions because you love someone the way I do  Jasmine, and you stay in denial even as the last remaining seconds of  the 1st half tick away, and the Cardinals are poised on Pittsburgh's goal line about to take the lead.

That's exactly when she jumped inmy lap and started nuzzling my face with her pink nose. She wasn't the omen I feared I assured myself. We are going to end the half with a touch down and go in at halftime with the lead. Jasmine gave me a kiss, and it felt like good timing that she was with me for this eminent moment. She was a good omen, not a bad omen. Her appearing for this touchdown is proof, and I was feeling sorry that I doubted her at the precise moment James Harrison stepped in front of Anquan Boldin, intercepted Kurt Warner's pass, and returned it 100 yards for the longest touchdown in Super Bowl history.

 "No. No. NO!" I shouted at the t.v.  Jasmine bolted and didn't return until  the 4th quarter and the Cardinals were driving for their second touch down.

I told my son I was making the best defensive play of the game when I picked Jasmine up and tossed her out the door. "Sorry. No Steeler fans in my house!"

I felt guilty, but it seemed to work. We scored  a touchdown,  a safety, and then Fitzgerald put us into the lead. If  only the Cardinals could make a defensive play to  prevent the Big Ben/Santonio Holmes connection. My hopes extinguished, I open the front door and called my Jasmine. 

I congratulated her on her team's victory, but she was pissed. It was bad enough losing the game, but losing Jasmine's love was something I couldn't bear, so I picked her up gave her a hug and said I was sorry.

Tonight she's curled up here in my lap as I write. She's the wrong color, but she's beautiful, which is more than I can say for her football team.